Desired by the Billionaire Playboy
A marriage of half a decade that Emily Winchester had poured her heart and soul into crumbled in a night after catching her sister and husband lustfully entangled. Her soon-to-be ex releases her nudes to the world, framing her with infidelity. She leaves the marriage with a little more than the clothes on her back, and desperately trying to pay for her grandmother's hospital bills, is aligned with New York's notorious playboy billionaire, Sean Woods, as he's looking for a contract wife.
What happens when a single night encounter is all that is needed for the most eligible bachelor in the country to have his sights set on her? Will she just turn into one of his many conquests or be the one woman who claims his heart alone?
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Chapter 6
Emily's POV
I could hear my brain chorusing, "Ground open and swallow me up." as I stared at the screen.
On the screen were pictures and videos of me, dancing at the strip club party, wearing barely anything.
My heart dropped so fast I thought I might actually throw up. Was this real?
I looked at the name of the poster 'Braden .W. Junior' Brad really did do this.
He actually posted them on the internet. Gosh, it felt like I couldn't breathe.
"You see?" Mom hissed, shoving the phone in my face. "You're all over the internet. Disgusting."
"You're a disgrace. A disgrace to me, to our family and to everyone around you." She spat.
"Mom," I whispered, my throat aching. "You know the reason I-"
"Gosh," she cut me off harshly. "I can't believe I even gave birth to you."
My chest ached.
"You see," she went on, "this is the difference between you and Becky. Becky would never do such a thing."
Her words stung more than anything Brad could've done. I just stood there, staring at the screen, and at the disgusted look on her face.
Her eyes swept over me from head to toe like I was some kind of rotten fruit. Dad didn't say a word, he just glared at me with disgust. And then, without another word, the two of them stormed out, slamming the door behind them.
I dropped to the ground, my knees hitting the floor hard, but I didn't care. The tears came hysterically.
Wendy rushed to me, holding my shoulders.
"Hey, it's okay. Okay? Don't let what they say get to you."
"How am I supposed to, Wendy?" I choked out between sobs. "How am I going to erase this disgrace? You know why I did what I did!"
Wendy's eyes softened. "We know, Emily. I know. Even your parents know. Brad is just being evil. Don't let him get to you."
But I couldn't stop crying. The humiliation and betrayal was too much.
Yes, I had worked as a stripper. For a couple of weeks or so. But it wasn't because I wanted to. I was the one paying my way through school. I needed the money. My grandmother's health had started failing around that time, and everything was falling apart.
And Brad had begged me for money to start his stupid business. I helped him. I did that for him too, to raise some capital. He literally took 60% of the money I made from that. And now he had the guts to post this, to destroy me like this?
"Gosh... Brad is a monster," I whispered, wiping my face with the back of my trembling hand.
"Stop crying," Wendy said gently, pulling me up from the floor. She guided me toward the dining table and made me sit down. "I'll make you something to eat."
I watched her walk to the kitchen, the sound of drawers opening and the clinking of utensils filling the silence. I just sat there, feeling empty and devastated.
My hands clenched around the edge of the table as tears burned behind my eyes again.
A few minutes later, Wendy placed a plate of food in front of me. Steam rose from it, but I couldn't move.
"Stop crying, Emily," she said softly, sitting across from me. "Stop crying, okay? Fuck him. Don't let him get to you."
I lifted my gaze to her, her expression was filled with concern.
"He's done his worst," she continued. "He posted the stupid videos and pictures, fine. Let him. Relax, okay? Move on. Don't let him define you. You are strong and beautiful. And Brad..." she exhaled, shaking her head, "Brad will regret what he did to you."
....
It had been three weeks since that day and honestly, it's been hell.
I had been going from company to company, dropping applications, attending interviews, hoping someone would just give me a chance. But every single time, it ended the same way. Rejection.
Apparently, the video was everywhere. No matter where I went, people had seen it. They didn't see me as Emily anymore, they saw me as that girl. The stripper.
Each rejection hurt badly. They all said the same thing in different words, that I was "irresponsible," "not fit for the company's image," and that they couldn't have "someone like me" working for them.
Even some girls from college who were always jealous of me for my grades, joined in on the mockery. They laughed behind my back, sent me screenshots, whispered when I passed by. It was their turn to shine, finally having something to throw at me.
It was painful. So painful that, at one point, I didn't even want to step outside. I just wanted to hide.
But Wendy wouldn't let me. She told me hiding wouldn't take the videos down or change anything. That I had to face it, no matter how hard it was.
So, that's what I was trying to do.
I sat nervously in front of the manager at the latest company I'd applied to. It was a woman, probably in her forties. I passed the first interview. She had even told me to come back today for the final phase.
"I'm sorry, Miss," she said, avoiding my eyes. "We can't accept you for this job."
My heart sank. "But ma'am, why not? You looked at my CV, you said I had all the qualifications, and you even asked me to come back for the final stage. Why are you turning me down now?"
She sighed, finally meeting my gaze. "I'm sorry. That was before I figured out... about your video. I can't accept someone like you."
The words hit me with great force, I felt my head spin. I didn't even realize when a tear rolled down my cheek. I tried to blink it back, but it was useless.
"Miss, please," I said, my voice trembling. "I promise, that video and those pictures... They're from my past. My ex-husband put them out there to get revenge on me because I asked for a divorce. Please. I was in a really bad place. I needed money. That was the only reason I did it."
She just looked at me, her expression blank like I was talking rubbish.
"I promise I'm responsible," I continued, my words coming out too fast. "That's my past. I'm sorry, Miss, but please just give me a chance."
She sighed softly and shook her head. "I'm sorry. But we just can't. Look, my company means a lot to me. It's my source of income. And my workers need to be eloquent, responsible, and have a good name."
"I'm sorry," she repeated, avoiding my eyes. "I can't accept someone like you. Please leave. Let me attend to the next person."
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9.5
"Do you know what marriage is?" Evelyn asked with a raised brow.
"Marriage is 'I do' and 'you do', then boom, children come in anytime they want," Drake replied with a cute smile.
"How do children come in?" She asked knowingly.
"Man and a woman call them," he replied foolishly.
"How do they call them?" She probed.
"Just like this..." He placed his phone to his ear.
"I already forgot that it's useless talking to you," Evelyn got annoyed and walked away
***
Twenty years old Evelyn Brown was forced to marry the son of the richest man in the country, Drake Valentino.
She thought her life was perfect, not until she was forced to get married to a man she barely knows because of money.
Evelyn had thought the arranged marriage wasn't bad as her groom was a handsome young man from a rich family, just like hers until she entered the marriage.
She was shocked into disbelief when she realized her husband wasn't as normal as she thought he was, he was a complete... Moron!
9.7
For seven years, I was Grant Charles’s shadow—his top executive assistant by day and the woman in his bed by night. I managed his billion-dollar empire and handled his every crisis, believing our bond was the one thing his money couldn't buy.
Everything shattered when I walked into his penthouse and found Aimee Austin sitting on his lap, wearing nothing but his favorite white dress shirt. Grant didn't even look guilty; he just stared at me with cold, arrogant eyes and told me I was dripping rain on his expensive Persian rug.
When I tried to resign, he showed me exactly how cruel he could be. He knew I had drained my life savings to pay for my mother’s specialized care for her dementia. "Without my salary and the foundation subsidy, she’ll be on the street in a month," he whispered, his voice dripping with malice. "Is your pride really worth her life?"
He didn't stop there. He tried to break my spirit by publicly humiliating me at a high-end restaurant, orchestrating a "setup" to show me that without his protection, I was nothing more than a common servant. He wanted me to realize that without him, I was a nobody with no future.
I couldn't believe the man I had protected for nearly a decade was weaponizing my dying mother to keep me as his subordinate. He thought he owned every inch of me, and he was waiting for me to come crawling back on my knees to beg for my old life.
But Grant made one fatal mistake: he assumed I was a charity case. He had no idea I was the secret heir to the billion-dollar Klein Trust, currently frozen behind a single marriage clause. I didn't need his money; I just needed a husband.
Instead of begging for my job, I walked straight into the office of the only man Grant feared—the ruthless litigator Julian Vance. I threw a marriage contract on his desk and gave him an offer he couldn't refuse. It was time to stop being a shadow and start a war.
9.2
"Rip my ass apart, Daddy! Fuck the shit out of me! God, yes!"
"So fucking tight, Jenny. No matter how many times I fuck your ass, it's always like the first time... Are you being good for daddy? Keeping other dicks out of this perfect ass?"
"Yes, Daddy. Only yours," she moaned...
###
Plunge into a filthy taboo erotica collection where daddies (step daddies, daddies-in-law, and other forbidden fruit) crave and claim their teasing little girls in raw, boundary shattering steamy shorts.
Loaded with intense dirty talk, dubious consent edges, high risk exposure thrills, possessive breeding kinks, degradation and humiliation, and scorching incest.
Please take care of your mental health. It gets dark and twisted in here...
###
A conflicted step daddy wrecks his stepdaughter's holes on his marital bed while his wife lurks nearby.
A blind step daughter is tricked into fucking daddy.
A daddy fucks his step daughter on her wedding day... to his son.
Billionaire daddies. Don daddies. A daddy that fucks his son's girlfriend... in front of his son.
###
Indulge in these and other dark fantasies with twist endings that will stay with you.
She begs for daddy's brutal cock. He can't stop stretching his filthy little girl.
***All characters are over 18. Explicit content ahead. 18+ only. Reader discretion is advised.
8.6
I spent three years being the perfect wife to tech mogul Cash Ferguson, a forensic accountant playing the role of a low-risk asset to stabilize his public image. My world shattered when I saw a live CNBC broadcast from Sundance showing Cash tenderly hoisting a two-year-old boy onto his hip—a secret son born to a socialite mistress while he was supposedly at a business roadshow.
When I confronted him with divorce papers, Cash didn't apologize; he laughed, calling me a "liability" and weaponizing my mother’s history of mental illness to claim I was genetically unfit to carry his heir. He didn't just reject the split; he locked the penthouse elevator and froze every one of my accounts, reclassifying me from a wife to a piece of disputed company property.
"You came from nothing, Isidora," he sneered, tossing a credit card at me like a leash. "Stop being dramatic. I can afford a pet, but don't think you can survive a day in the real world without my name."
The betrayal turned lethal when I discovered Cash had tracked down my mother’s stolen emerald brooch—my only connection to my past—and bought it as a gift for his mistress. He was using my trauma and my heritage to decorate the woman who had replaced me in his secret life.
I realized then that Cash had made a fatal accounting error: he forgot that I was the one who built his shadow accounts and knew exactly where the fraud was buried. He wanted to treat our marriage like a hostile takeover, so I decided to give him a market correction he would never forget.
I escaped down forty flights of stairs with nothing but a burner laptop and a plan to burn his empire to the ground. If he wanted to play dirty, I’d show him what happens when a forensic accountant initiates a liquidation protocol. I’m not just leaving; I’m going to make him crawl.
8.0
I spent two years as the perfect, dutiful wife to Foster Baird. I was his unpaid PR consultant and his emotional punching bag, enduring his mother’s snide comments about my orphan background all for the sake of a "marriage" I thought was real.
But when I went to the City Clerk’s office to replace a damaged document, the clerk looked at me with genuine pity.
"There is no record of a marriage license for you and Foster Baird. Legally? You aren't married."
The betrayal went even deeper. I returned to our penthouse to find Foster’s mistress on our sofa, alongside a five-year-old boy who shared Foster’s exact features. Foster hadn't just cheated; he had a secret family that predated our entire relationship. He had even bribed a doctor to lie to me about being infertile just to keep me docile and focused on his business. When the mistress moved into my guest wing the next day, Foster demanded I act as their hostess and serve them dinner.
I watched them play happy family in the home I built, realizing I was never a wife—I was just "cheap labor" he intended to discard once his company stock stabilized. He thought I was a barren charity case with nowhere to go.
He was wrong. That same afternoon, I received a call from the executor of the Arthur Kensington estate. I wasn't a nobody; I was the long-lost biological daughter and sole heir to a five-billion-dollar fortune.
While Foster was busy planning my replacement, I was accessing the Kensington Trust. I didn't scream, and I didn't cry. I simply bought a fifty-million-dollar mansion and hired a team of forensic accountants to dismantle the Baird Group from the inside out. I crushed my old phone under my designer heel and looked at my new security detail.
"Let's get to work," I said.
7.2
Five years ago, I was sentenced to prison for a car accident that left Blaire Lowe fighting for her life in the ICU.
The day I was finally released, I thought the nightmare was over, but it had only just begun.
Carson Long, the man who once loved me, was waiting. He didn't see a victim of a tragic accident; he saw a monster who deserved to rot.
He made sure I knew that freedom was a lie. He turned my life into a living hell, dragging me through the halls of the hospital to witness the ruin I had caused, forcing me to watch as those who once knew me spat on my name and treated me like filth.
When he demanded I pay for my sins by destroying my own face, I didn't hesitate. I carved a jagged scar into my cheek just to satisfy his cold, relentless hatred, hoping it would finally be enough to earn his mercy.
But he wasn't satisfied. He dragged me to his estate, stripped me of my dignity, and turned me into the house's lowest servant, forcing me to scrub cobblestones until my knees bled and my body gave out.
Why did he hate me so much that he wanted me to suffer every second of my existence? Why was he so determined to see my soul crushed into dust, even when I had nothing left to give?
I looked at the trash I was forced to eat, and in that moment, I realized that as long as Carson held the leash, I would never be free.
I picked up a piece of moldy bread, my eyes hollow, and decided that if living meant becoming his dog, I would find a way to end the game on my own terms.